All these people. All these faceless bodies---they’re like walking patches of night.

He sat up on his bed, hand clutched to his chest. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. The pain was excruciating. He had never felt such fear before. Night after night, he endured this dream of being the only one that existed. Or was he the only one who didn’t exist?

Reaching over to the other side of the bed, he felt her soft and warm body. He watched the soft rise and fall of her chest, breathing with ease and comfort. She always slept like a rock. Under the moonlight, her face glowed serenely. In this light, he reminded him of the young huntresses of Diana, resting from a long hunt across the galaxies.

It’s been over six months since Joey had declared her love for him and how the world he knew flipped over backwards. He could not really remember life before her. They’ve spent too many years of their lives hiding beneath a veil of fear. Since the first night they finally really kissed with the security and confidence of love requited, he has constantly feared losing her.

The fear was worst at night. When years before he treasured being able to sprawl across the bed, now he cannot sleep without feeling her skin on his. He likes to sleep on his right side on the right side of the bed, left arm ready to slam the alarm clock.
But she likes to sleep on her left side on the left side of the bed, ready to answer the telephone. For the first few months, when their passion was fervent and their insecurity at its peak, they reassured each other by lying with arms and legs intertwined. They slept holding hands, in embraces so tight that they woke up with pins and needles on their arms.

As the months flew by, she slowly was able to peel herself away from these nightly embraces. She was comfortable and secure. She was assured that he would not leave in the middle of the night. He was here to stay.

It has been six months since they kissed. Six months since Joey had told him she loved him. Minutes since she fervently kissed him and whispered into his ear, “I love you, Pacey.” Minutes since she had held him in her arms as she rocked back and forth against him as she moaned and whispered.

Now they sleep at ease with the spaces in between. No. Not “they”. She can. He can’t. In the middle of the night, he sleeping on his right side, she on his left, he will slide over closer to her, just to make sure that her backside touches his. Just to make sure. Just to make sure that she really is there.

Because in his heart of hearts, he may become a nameless, faceless person in the streets of Manhattan and he wouldn’t give one twit about it. But without her, he’d be absolutely nothing. And that would render him insane.

“Pacey? Is that you?” He heard her voice ring above the din of clanging pots and pans emanating from the kitchen. Pacey threw his coat across the back of a sofa and reached over to lower the volume of the stereo that was blaring out Madonna’s “Ray Of Light”.

“Hon? I’m home. Don’t I get a hello kiss, preferably with you dressed in a really short French maid’s outfit carrying a leather whip?” he yelled out towards the general direction of the kitchen. “By the way, I booked the flight to Barbados this weekend. We’re still on, right?”

He heard her yell excitedly and then start to swear as the oil in the pan started to pop.

Domesticated she claimed not to be, but six months of living together had transformed Joey into a frustrated Martha Stewart. He walked into the kitchen and leaned on the doorjamb. Clad in his black suit and loosened necktie, he knew that he was an impressive sight for Joey who enjoyed the dichotomy of Mr. Pacey Witter: Corporate Lion by day, Passionate Lover and Friend by night.

“Whatcha cooking?” He walked over to her and embraced her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and stroking her stomach with his hands. He took a deep sniff of her hair. “Smells like…black olives, capers… and a lot of garlic.” He spun her around, apron, wooden spoon and tomato sauce, and said, “With all this garlic in our systems, you aren’t going to get laid tonight.”

“You are such a presumptuous pig, Witter!” she exclaimed, swatting his shoulder with her free hand. “Just who do you think you are to think that you…umph…” He had just engulfed her in a strong and powerful kiss that left her limp in his arms. “You are definitely going to get lucky tonight if I could find my Listerine…”

Tonight was typical of how they spent their evenings. Night after night, Pacey would clench his briefcase, counting the seconds before he could finally unlock the door to his apartment to the smell of food cooking or to the sound of the stereo playing Jann Arden’s “Good Mother” or Tori Amos’ “Tear In Your Hand”. Or better yet, to the sight of Joey at the far corner of the living room, which they converted into her mini-studio where she stands in front of her easel, dressed in nothing but her old overalls and a bandanna to pull her hair away from her face.

At work, he would find himself too preoccupied with visions and thoughts of Joey to devote himself to become the corporate killer shark he envisioned himself to be. Before that fateful dinner six months ago, he was a promising young executive, destined to reign at the top rungs of the corporate ladder. Night after night he spent working on proposals, strategic initiatives and logistical solutions. Week after week, he was in another city, inspecting the different plants and thinking up of new ways to speed up the production and distribution processes. The big guns at the top have heard of him; they knew he’d be going places. Some feared him, some were in awe.

Then it became lonely at the top. Then being on top of the world didn’t mean shit if it meant being without Joey.

So promotion after promotion, he declined if it meant being reassigned away from New York, away from the city Joey has declared her new home. He said no to being a top executive in San Francisco since Joey’s interior design company was just starting out, her prime clients already in the city. He declined being sent to Costa Rica for six months because it would mean missing the grand opening of the Howell Ward building which Joey helped design.

Not a single thing did he regret. All he had to do was look at the framed picture on his desk: Joey and himself, leaning on a railing, the New York skyline looming behind them.

So, this tiny kitchen with Joey in his arms, waving a wooden spoon at him as she berated him for his behavior, his sardonic smile and sarcastic witticisms, was all that he needed.

“Pacey? Pacey? Are you even listening to me?” Joey asked, irritation creeping into her normally sweet voice.

“Oh. Sorry, Jo. I was just spacing out. Work. You know…” he said with a weak smile. He’s been doing that lately. Finding himself thinking of years of his life squeezed into a few seconds of spacing out. “So, what time is dinner? Do I have time to take a quick shower and get out of this awful suit?”

“Yeah, you do. Maybe another fifteen minutes,” she replied, turning her attention to her sauce. “By the way, it’s not an awful suit. It’s an EXPENSIVELY AWFUL SUIT!” she yelled to the figure retreating towards the bedroom.

With a soft chuckle to himself, he walked to the room, throwing off clothes to the floor, onto the chair. He reached for the remote control to turn the TV on when he heard the phone ring instead.

“Hello?” he said into the phone. He turned around and through the open door, could see Joey swinging her head side to side to the song as she threw in whatever it is that she threw into the pot. A smile spread across his face.

“Hello, Pacey. This is Mom.”

Time hung like a stuck pendulum. Mom? He hadn’t spoken to her in months; she hasn’t bothered to call him in years. They didn’t even attend his graduation rites, preferring to “avoid all the trouble” by arriving the next day, as he nursed a hang over. Why call now?

“Pacey? Pacey? Can you hear me?” He could hear mumbling something or the other about how the line was messed up, how he couldn’t hear her when he suddenly spoke, “Mom. I’m here. How’s it going?”

He could feel the dryness of his mouth. Thoughts of the emotional abuse she endured under the watchful and paranoid eye of his father made him sick to the stomach. Watching her cringe when he raised his voice. Or stonily stare back at her sons as she served them dinner.

“Hello, Pacey. I know it’s been a long time since we last talked. I was hoping you could come home for a few days.”

“Any particular reason I should come home, Mom? I’m really not in the mood to go through a horribly long sermon from Dad…”

“Oh, Pacey! Can’t you and your dad just settle your differences? Besides, I’m asking you to come home this weekend not for your dad but for mine. Grampa Earl is coming over for a short visit. He’d like to see his clan, you know…”

He could hear the imploring tone in her voice, a tone so weak and resigned. He also could not hear her breathing, as if not breathing will hasten him to answer yes.

He looked up. Joey was shaking the wooden spoon at the pot and muttering what he assumed were probably curses. He looked back at the phone on the side table and sighed.

“I can’t come home, Mom. I’ve got work to do this weekend---gotta fly out to California. I need to look at a few of the plants. Sorry. I’ll call Grampa Earl and tell him I can’t make it.” Each word he uttered was a lie. Each word he uttered made his stomach curl. Yet, how could he miss a 3 day stay at Barbados with Joey?

Besides, Grampa Earl and I spent a lot of time when I was younger. He’d understand if I told him it was because I’m with a girl I love. He’d also understand if I didn’t want to go home and see Dad. When was the last time I saw Grampa? Whoa… Eight years ago. That’s a bloody long time…

A voice interrupted his thoughts. “Oh, I understand, Pacey. Work and all that. Just call your Grampa when you can OK? He’s rarely so far East but I’m sure he’ll understand if you explain to him. We miss you. Bye.”

Before he could even say anything, the phone was dead. He looked up to watch Joey taste the sauce and start boiling the pasta. I wouldn’t miss a trip with her.

“This is your pilot, Captain Thomas. We are beginning our descent and will be arriving in Barbados in approximately 30 minutes. Thank you for flying Air Caribbean and we hope you enjoy your stay.”

Joey pulled off her sunglasses and pressed her face onto the window, struggling to get a view of the water below and get a glimpse of the island. She could see rolling hills, deep gullies and rifts framed by the whitest of beaches.

Pacey watched her get all excited, grabbing her Lonely Planet book and read aloud. She was wearing a soft yellow spaghetti strap sundress, accentuating the collarbone that Pacey seemed to be fixated on. He watched her chest heave up and down as she breathed heavily onto the glass.

He listened to her voice which was bordering on feverish as she said, “Tourism is big business on Barbados, and most visitors who come to the island are looking for that comfortable mix of the familiar peppered with just enough local flavor to feel 'exotic.' So if you're looking for a Caribbean island with plenty of amenities, water sports and nightlife, Barbados fits the bill.”

She turned to Pacey and began to shake him as she chanted, “Barbados, Barbados, Barbados! ” She threw herself at him and hugged him. “Thank you, thank you so much! Ouch!” she yelled when she realized she still had her seatbelt on.

Driving up and down the hills of the Caribbean island was breathtaking. Joey oohed and aahed at every sight. Pacey watched her head spin from left to right as she commented on the warm Caribbean sunshine, the incredibly blue sky, the miles of soft white sand that lined the coast, the coconut palms swaying in the cool winds and the dazzling aquamarine sea that stretched across the horizon.

“I can’t wait to get to the hotel, Pace. The first thing I’m going to do is,” she said then leaned towards him to whisper. His hair stood on end and he could feel his face flushing as he felt her hot breath on his ear.

“You are driving me crazy, woman,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. For some reason, being in a different country where they are just another set of faces among the thousands that flocked the little Caribbean island rendered them both daring and…crazy. He could picture the little adventures they would have in the four days they would be spending here.

They arrived at the Barbados Beach Club a six-storey stucco pink building smack on the famous blue waters of the island. The expansive lobby left Joey breathless.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be staying in paradise for four days! I can’t believe that just a few hours ago, we were stifling in the concrete jungle that we call home!” she exclaimed.

“Hon, we’re going to be here for four blissful days of pure pleasure and hedonism. We are to do or say nothing remotely related to New York,” he replied.

The bellboy that escorted them to their room opened the door with a flourish. The room deserved such a grand gesture---they gasped at the perfect view before them. The pale yellow curtains were billowing in the wind, opening a picture perfect vista of the water.

Quietly, the bellboy left the room as the couple stood motionless in the middle of the room.

“Welcome to paradise, Miss Potter,” he whispered, his arm around her but his eyes glued to the window.

She could only nod her head in response.

The sun was beating down on their bodies, bodies that have been covered in flannel, wool and leather for too long. Her body lay stretched across a yellow beach towel, sunglasses covering her eyes, her hand holding onto a tall glass of piña colada. Her fair skin glistened and reddened with the heat and the tanning oil. Her long brown hair was splayed above her, shining in contrast against the white sand.

She was never more beautiful. Looking at her always stupefied him, stunning him into emptiness as all thoughts left him. She always rendered him helpless. Looking at her now, lying contentedly under the sun, unaware of his eyes riveted upon her, he could not remember another time when she was more beautiful.

Oh wait, no. I remember when she was most beautiful. When we were on the rooftop of our dormitory, downing cold beers under the summer sky. When she first kissed me.

She was about to sit up when she felt him turn towards her. He cupped her face, stroking her cheek. He held her hand and placed it on his face. So there they sat, facing each other on a warm summer night, on a ledge on the rooftop of their dorm beneath a midnight carpet of stars on the last night of their college life. With a gentle pull of his hand, he moved her towards him, bringing her face towards his, slowly, oh so slowly. Forehead to forehead. Nose to nose. Cheek to cheek. It was as if Pacey wanted to hold her face close to his, smell her scent, feel her skin on his, and take her in. Then finally…

He heard someone calling his name, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Yeah? What ? Huh?”

“I said,” she said, her mouth forming into that crooked smile he had loved since childhood, “could you please put oil on my back? It’s time for me to roast the other half of my body.”

In beach movies, girls roll over in their beach towels with grace and fluidity, enticing you to watch them. Joey literally rolled over, uncaring that she was getting sand all over herself, that her suit was getting all twisted. Yet Pacey was mesmerized; he couldn’t stop staring.

It must be this heat…

So, he spent the next twenty minutes slathering Joey’s back and legs with tanning oil, a small smile on his face. To think he could have missed this for another dysfunctional Witter family reunion…

“So, shall I wear the white one or the blue one?” she asked, yelling from the bathroom.

While he was choosing whether to wear a Hawaiian shirt and proceed to embarrass his girlfriend, Joey was deciding whether to stun him with a white dress or to stun him with a blue dress. She can be wearing camouflage pants and a yellow parachute and she’d still be beautiful. The fact that she had no idea how beautiful she was---how many heads she’s turned and how many men have run into walls while staring at her---made her even more beautiful.

She stepped out of the bathroom wearing a simple white sundress that fell mid-thigh making her legs look they go on for miles. Her wavy hair cascaded past her shoulders, falling softly about her like a halo.

“Well?” she said, spinning around for him.

He wanted to start blurting out “She Walks In Beauty Like The Night” but instead, he said, “You look exactly the way you do when you wake up in the morning. Messy hair, spotty face and absolutely stunning.” Just as he was about to say more, his face met a pillow, snuffing out whatever else he had to say.

“You’re absolutely horrid, Witter. You look just as ugly,” she said, laughing as she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She was looking up at him with a giddy smile on her face.

"OK, I leave you alone for ten minutes in the bathroom and you raid the mini-bar?” he asked, pulling her close to his body.

“Well, if I’m going to be stuck with you for four days, it’d be better for my sanity if I were drunk enough not to remember a single moment, right?” she replied, rocking her body against his, feeling the tension and heat coming off from being so close to him.

He reached up to her neck and pulled her face in. For just a few seconds, he enjoyed the closeness of her face, her scent, and her breath. They stood for what seemed like several lifetimes, arms around each other and enjoying the little spaces in between.

He felt her hands stroke his back, moving up and down. She leaned in closer and sealed their lips together, molding them as one. Heartbeat for heartbeat, they were in synch. Though they stood almost motionless, he could feel the earth moving in slow, rhythmic circles.

He pulled away for a second to say, “I guess we’ll just order room service, huh?”
He felt her lips smiling upon his.

After what seemed like hours of lovemaking, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. When you are in the dreaming, the reality that we know isn’t as vivid. At least for Joey Potter, as she peeled herself from him and rolled over to her side the way she always does when she is deep in her sleep. Pacey woke for a few seconds and rolled over to his side. But not without looking over to the lovely slumbering face of the woman he loved. He stroked her face, brushing away the hair from her cheek. She mumbled unintelligibly and sighed. He leaned over to kiss the spot he had claimed his: the soft spot where her neck meets the back of her earlobe. Then he sidled alongside her and pressed his back on hers. That was when he finally joined her in the dreaming.

“Good morning, ugly,” he said. He was sitting on her side of the bed, his arm astride over her long body. She rolled over to her back and rubbed her eyes.

“Good morning, dumb ass,” she replied with a smile. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon. You want to have lunch on the beach? I called the manager and he’s setting up a picnic for us in a cove not far from here. I rented out a small boat, which will be ready in an hour. So,” he said, rattling off instructions in a military voice. “Get your ass out of bed, head to the bathroom and put on your slinkiest bikini, Private Potter! Now!” he bellowed.

She sat up quickly and snapped to salute. “Yes, sir, Colonel Dumb Ass, sir!”

The sun was bright, the sea was blue and the wind was cool. Donning just a white bikini and a sarong-wrapped around her hips, Joey epitomized a sea goddess. Pacey felt like the luckiest sailor on earth as he watched her on the prow of the boat, the wind blowing her hair back, her arms outstretched as she tried to catch the wind.

They finally arrived in a secluded cove a few miles from the busy beach of the Barbados Beach Club. Though they enjoyed being a part of the throng of tourists, it was obvious that as a couple, they needed their couple time. What better place but a secluded beach cove surrounded by the sky and the sea?

Side by side, they ate their picnic lunch of steamed shrimps and lobsters, fresh bread and cheeses. They toasted to their little weekend adventure with chilled white wine. There was not a single cloud in the sky and the sea in front of them stretched for miles, as calm as a lake. Under the trees where they sat, they could hear birds cooing and listened for the wind song.

Pacey lay down on his back and just looked up at the trees. His view darkened as she rolled on top of him, sitting astride his prone body.

“Aha! I’ve got you now,” she yelled, brandishing what looked like a knife but was actually a twig. “You are my prisoner, my slave, my…my…prisoner, my slave!”

She tightened her grip on him and proceeded to tickle him till he was gasping for breath. They wrestled in the sand, rolling around like children.

“No! I will not submit to your dictatorial antics, Amazon Woman! I will triumph over the evil you wish to put me under!” he yelled as he pinned her body to the ground.

With a deft move, she was able to throw him and again sit astride him. “Say uncle! Say uncle!”

They laughed at their antics and at how they are so comfortable with acting like total idiots. She pulled him up and holding his hand, ran straight into the surf. They splashed each other like two kids in a swimming pool, tried to dunk each other under water.

The sun was beginning to set. They tried to make the day last longer by sitting on the sand just watching the sky become orange, red and pink. She sat between his legs, leaning against his hard body and feeling him breath.

He had never felt so alive in his life. It was like they were in their own little world, far from the hectic pace of New York life, far from the obligations and demands of family, colleagues and friends. It was just the two of them. Joey and Pacey. Pacey and Joey.

“I love catching the sunset. One minute everything is all orange and pink then as soon as it dips beyond the horizon, the world is suddenly enveloped in darkness. Like someone turned off a light somewhere,” she said to no one in particular. “I wish I had my paints with me.

In response, he said, “Sunsets remind me of another page being turned in a book. Like another chapter. Another day. We have our own story, our own book, Joey. The only thing missing is defining where our story takes place.

One day, Joey, you and I are going to have our own little cove, our own little world. Just you and me.

A place where we can wake up to the smell of the sea, the sounds of the water crashing upon the shore.

A place where the sunset is ours and we wouldn’t mind having the light turned off. A place where the sun sings to you and the wind makes the trees dance.

A place where the moon winks at you and the stars are like candles in the sky.”

He paused to take a deep breath and hold her closer.

“A place where you can spend the whole day doing nothing but what you want to do---paint, take photographs, paint some more.

“I love you, Joey. I love you so much that when I look at you I can’t breathe.” He whispered this to the brown hair he had held in his fingers in the throes of passion, to the ear that he kissed late at night. His arms tightened around her body as he felt the inevitable quickening heartbeat. “I love you and I thank all the gods for you.”

He felt her move deeper into his arms and tuck her head on his shoulder. He could feel the quickening of her heartbeat, which spoke louder than any response to his soliloquy on love and commitment. He knew that she understood and that she agreed.

So they sat in silence and waited for someone to turn off the light.

The taxi was crawling among the throngs of heaving cars, trucks and buses. Gray skies loomed over them, hiding the sun they had just recently worshipped in Barbados. Their ears hurt at the sound of beeping horns, yelling pedestrians and screeching brakes.

They were back in New York.

“I wish we could go back. Or better yet, stay there,” Joey whispered, leaning on Pacey’s chest as they watched the dark, empty faces of New Yorkers walk passed them. “I wish New York wasn’t so different from Barbados. The change of environment is so drastic; it’s making me so depressed. Like… like…”

“Like someone put a slab of concrete on your chest? I think, when we get home, we should play a little Harry Belafonte and make ourselves a few pitches of piña coladas. What do you think?” he said.

He felt her snuggle against him and sigh. “Those were the greatest four days of my life, Pacey. Thank you so much for insisting that we go. I don’t regret the backlog of work that awaits me when I get to the office! Agh! I forgot! I have to work on the Ward Howell designs soon. Damn!”

“Well, back to reality. Back to this concrete jungle we call home.” He looked out the window and he remembered his nightmares.

I’m walking down the streets of Manhattan. Then suddenly, everything spins into a blur. Hordes of people are coming at me, closer, closer they come, hovering above me, to the left of me, behind me.

They don’t have faces.

I see their black suits, their gray coats and their blonde, red and brown hair. I see the briefcases, knapsacks and paper bags. I can hear the cacophony of voices: mumblings, whisperings and the ravenous undertones behind the lilting voices.

Why can’t I see their faces? Where are their faces?!?

All these people. All these faceless bodies---they’re like walking patches of night.

He shook himself violently, trying to dispel the image before his eyes. All these empty shells of humans, walking to and from wherever they come from and go to. He squeezed Joey tighter to him, like a talisman, thanking his lucky stars that she has the power to make him feel whole, to fill up all the little patches of night in his being.

He could feel a strain on her body as she moved to look up at him.

“Are you OK? You’re spacing out on me again,” she said.

“Oh, I’m OK. Just making a mental list of things to do,” he lied. “Can you remind me to call my grandfather? I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

“Oh, is this Grandpa Earl? The one who took us fishing once in some cabin somewhere up north? He was the greatest. I mean, he could just sit there quietly for hours but when he’d open his mouth, out would come one of the wisest things. He really was amazing.”

Pacey could feel his stomach tightening, like someone had grabbed a hold of his insides and began to squeeze…and release…and squeeze… and release. He could feel the bitter-sour taste of bile near the back of his throat, threatening.

In a tight voice, “Yeah, he’s great. I miss him. Should give him a call. Not to be a braggart or anything, but I think I was Grandpa Earl’s favorite, you know? I was the only one who could tease him, call him Grandma Earl and punch his shoulder. Remind me to call him as soon as we get home, OK?”

They walked into their apartment carrying with them a sense of comfort for being home yet felt a sigh of regret as the realization of being in New York hit them. He felt her reach for his waist and pull him closer to her body as they strode in.

“I’m going to turn the stereo on and play a little Bob Marley, OK? I don’t care if it’s 4 in the afternoon; make me a stiff margarita, will you? I’ll run a bath. I’m feeling sticky with New York smog!” she said, walking towards the master bedroom, stripping her clothes along the way.

He watched her, so tall and beautiful even in the somber gray light that streamed into the apartment. Soon enough, Bob Marley and the Wailers were singing “Waiting In Vain”.

As he dialed, he strained to hear the rush of the water in the bathroom. He tapped his foot as he waited for the phone to connect.

“Hello? May I speak to Grandpa Earl? This is Pacey,” he said.

“Pacey? Is that you?” a woman’s voice asked. He almost replied, “No, shit, I just said so, right?”

“Yes, this is Pacey. May I speak to Grandpa Earl?” he repeated impatiently.

“Pacey, this is Aunt Carrie. You didn’t hear? Oh, I hate to be the one to tell you. But…”

He didn’t hear her finish the sentence. He just knew. He just knew that while he spent four blissful sunny days in Barbados, drinking margaritas and making sweet love to Joey, his grandfather passed on. There was a jet plane’s engine roaring in his ears, a concrete slab thrown onto his chest, hitting him like a speeding train---slamming him down to his knees as he crumbled to the floor, dragging the phone with him. He didn’t hear it bang with a thud.

With a cold and heavy hand, he put the phone down into its cradle. He heard nothing but the roaring wind in his head. He felt nothing but the cold hands grip his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“Pacey? Pacey, honey, what’s wrong?” he heard her say. She never sounded so far away, considering that her face was inches away from his. He didn’t feel her hand on his shoulder as he stared blankly at the face he loved so much. All he could was the shadows laughing at him as the walls began to close on him.

His grandfather passed away. His grandfather passed away.

“Today, we lay to rest Thomas Earl Witter, a loving father and grandfather, a dedicated servant of the community…”

He could barely hear the eulogy. Flying out from New York that very afternoon, he went straight to his grandfather’s house. What used to be a bright and well-lit home was now one that well worn and drab. It used to be a haven for grandchildren like Pacey, a home that served as an escape for the truant Witter kids. To him, it stood like an empty shell, devoid of life. His grandfather was that house’s light.

Too many memories were flooding his brain. Like a montage, he saw pictures of him with his grandfather up at the lake. Picking out fishing hats. Going through the garage for their rods. Looking out to the mountains and guessing what time the rain will come. Stuck in a shack waiting out a storm. Side by side around a bonfire and listening to Witter clan stories. Watching his grandfather laugh aloud as he sang “My Way”.

Like a photo album in his mind, he drew the one picture he knew he really loved. It was that of his grandfather gingerly opening his gifts, saving each gift wrapping paper to use as scratch pad later on when Duke Ellington’s “Sing, Sing” began to play. Pacey watched with a small smile on his face as his grandfather began to twitch, whistling under his breath when suddenly, with much gusto, he tore the gift wrapping paper to pieces, pulled out the gift, smiled at the video camera and yelled, “So, who’s dancing with Grandpa Earl?”

His grandfather was the exemplary model of “living life”. He had all that he ever needed: a family that loved him, a house that he built with his own hands and a lake where he would take Pacey fishing. Fishing. That was the special experience that they have always shared. Among his grandchildren, Pacey was the only one who not only did it to be with him but because he shared the same love for the hobby as his grandfather did. Granted that he took all his grandchildren to the same lake, Pacey knew for a fact that he was the only one who ever got to see the little shack Grandpa Earl built in the 50s. It housed all that the little mementos that he knew his grandfather held dear---his war medals, his wedding pictures and the first fish he caught with his own grandfather in the very same lake. Five generations of Witter memories under one roof.

And like memories, that is all that they are---pictures in your mind. He tried to make the pictures clearer---they seemed to be so gray and faded---so that he can encapsulate his grandfather’s picture in his mind, etching it in stone.

“…forever and ever. Amen.”

The sound of soil landed with a dull thud upon his grandfather’s coffin. It echoed with finality. That was when the dams broke. With a howl, he began to cry with a pain he did not know he was capable of feeling. From the pit of his stomach, he wept. Like a hurt animal, he was inconsolable and could not seem to comprehend the anguish he was going through. Guests will tell stories later of the young man on his knees, mumbling over and over, “Grandpa, Grandpa, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please understand…”

He did not even notice the hand on his shoulder that tried to pull him up to his feet. He did not feel the hugs and embraces people gave him nor did he hear the whispers of condolences and commiseration from the many guests that came to pay his grandfather the respect he so deserved. He did not hear the stereo that played Frank Sinatra, his grandfather’s favorite singer. He did not see the American flag that hung from the porch, as it seemed to sorrowfully sway in the wind. He did not taste the food pushed upon him by his relatives as they urged him to eat.

All he could feel was the darkness of his spirit and the numbness of his heart.

“Hello? Joey? Are you there? If you are, please pick up? Jo?” Just as he was about to put the phone down, a breathless Joey picked up the phone and said, “Pacey! I’m here!”

“Pacey? Are you all right? Are you sure you don’t want me to fly over? I want to be with you, you know that right?” he heard her say.

“Hi, baby,” he responded in a tired voice. “I’m OK. Don’t worry about me. I’d rather that you stay in New York and finish off those projects than you come here only to worry about work. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, idiot. I can hear your voice.” In a whisper she said, “You forget that I hear your voice.”

“I’m a wreck, baby. I really am. But I’ve got to do this, right? And I can’t make you fly out here when you’ve got so much to do. I’ll be fine. I’ll be home before you know it.” He leaned back in his chair and rested his head. He could hear her breathing heavily, a sign that she was close to getting irritated.

“I’m OK without you, Pace. It’s you I’m worried about. Are you sure you don’t want me to fly out there?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Jo. I’ll be here for just a couple more days to help Aunt Carrie settle Grandpa’s affairs. I don’t want people to gyp her so I’ve got to monitor what the lawyer does. I’ll be home by Wednesday.”

“OK, if you say so. I’ll pick you up at the airport, OK? And no buts.”

“If history reminds me, it’s always been a battle in vain to try and argue with you, Potter. I’ll see you on Wednesday. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Hurry home.”

Even with the phone line dead in his hands, he could feel her love, her support and her need to be with him. That was how it has always been between the two of them. Many people claim to be soul mates, that somewhere, somehow, a divine rod chose two people to walk the same path, to hear the same songs and to see the same horizon. With Joey and Pacey, it was not a pre-destined dictate that told them that they were meant to be together. The love they shared was a choice---a choice to stay by each other’s side, simply because it felt right, because it was the one thing that made sense. There was no need to make loud declarations of love and friendship. It was understood. So understood. So real.

The little things he did for her: changing sides as they crossed the street, carrying her bags no matter how much she protested, being there during every important event like her thesis defense or her art exhibit, calling her late at night when he knew she was studying, just to give her a break.

Then there were the really special moments. Reading that poem on "unpredictable" night. Making her promise to call him, no matter what time. Ranting to Mike about how he wanted to kill Bryan. Taking her in his arms, cradling her as he sang silly songs to make her laugh.

She turned to look at him and said, "Thank you so much, Pacey. I wouldn't have made it through college without you. From water bombs and whoopee cushions to romantic partners and drunken nights, you were there for me, weren't you?" She continued after seeing him nod. "So, call a toast."

"To always doing the right thing, for the right reason."

"Amen to that, Brother Witter. To never giving up on a friend no matter how much they claw and bite."

"And that deserves another beer, Sister Potter. To...screw this toast shit." He popped open another beer, lit a cigarette and took a deep breath. "I swear to you this, Joey: I will always be your friend. We may be taking different paths now, going on our own roads. But I promise you this, on my grandmother's grave, I will always be there for you. You are the man. I love you. No one is allowed to hurt you without hearing from me. No one is allowed to make Eskimo kisses with you. You da man, Joey, you da man." He took a swig of his beer and took a drag. In a whisper, he said, over and over, "you da man, you da man."

Joey moved closer to him so she could lean on his shoulder. "I love you, too, Pacey."

But tonight, even Joey’s love provided no solace.

So, there he lay on the bed for what seemed like hours. The curtains were drawn, tightly, as if he feared the sun would burn his body and soul to nothingness. It was dark, silent and sullen---a dark mirror of what he felt. Is it possible to feel this much EMPTINESS without withering away?

He knew it wasn’t his fault that his grandfather passed away. Who would have thought that after a fun and happy evening, his grandfather would feel tired and fall asleep with a headache? A headache that became an aneurysm that would cause a blood clot that would cause him to have a stroke as he slept?

No one could blame him.

So why did he feel like he was the root of all evil?

Because I was in Barbados drinking daiquiris and swimming in crystal blue waters with Joey.

Because I was making sweet love to Joey, smelling her hair and taking in her sweet scent while my grandfather’s body began to shut down as he slept.

Because I was the only Witter in our handful of a clan who wasn’t there.

Because I was the only grandchild who did not kiss him hello and eat dinner at his house.

Because I was the only one who came up with a stupid excuse to miss out on the reunion, who lied so I could be with Joey.

Because I was the only Witter who did not see him alive.

A knock on the door.

“Pacey?” Aunt Carrie said in a soft whisper. “Can I come in?”

He walked over to the door without answering. He opened the door to see a small, frail woman looking up at him. She must be devastated. The first one who had to see him never wake up…At least she saw him alive, damn it! he thought bitterly.

“Yes, Aunt Carrie?”

“Um… I was going through some of your grandfather’s things and I found this one in a box of photographs he kept in his bedroom. I’m sure he’d want you to have this.”

She handed him a fading black and white photograph of a young Pacey, aged 20, with his arms around his grandfather. The smiles on their faces were as bright as the day that picture was taken.

It was the summer Joey and Pacey went up to the lake to spend a few days with Grandpa Earl. Joey had taken the picture.

“Thank you very much, Aunt Carrie,” he said, woodenly.

She reached over to hug him. “You know, Grandpa Earl really loved you. That night, he was saying that he was so proud of you, traveling all over the country doing an important job. He wouldn’t stop bragging about you all night. ‘Pacey Witter is an important man with an important job! Takes after me, that boy!’ he said, all night long to anyone who would listen to him. Don’t feel bad about not seeing him. Who would have thought he’d pass on, seeing that he’s such a strong man, right? Besides, you have a job that’s important. He understood, really.”

With a stricken face, he tried to hold back the tears and the bile coming up from his stomach. He smiled a sad smile and hugged his Aunt Carrie tightly. Then closed the door.

He looked down at the picture he held in his hand.

How ironic that the woman who took this picture is the reason why I didn’t see my grandfather alive…

Looking down at his grandfather’s face and the memories brought on by that picture, he remembered what he said about Joey.

”Pacey, consider yourself lucky that you have a friend like Joey. How many people can say that they have a friend who can read their minds, who know exactly when to call and what to say when they do? Not a lot, Pacey. I look at you and I see you pining away for this woman and I understand why. She’s beautiful, she’s smart and she’s got bigger balls than you do. But you can’t seem to see past wanting and needing her. Be happy that she loves you as a dear friend. Anything more than that would be a gift from God.”

“This is your captain speaking. We will be arriving in New York in about 30 minutes. We hope you have enjoyed your flight…”

“Blah, blah, blah, blah,” as far as Pacey was concerned. The voice could have been telling him that there was a mutant monster the size of the Empire State Building wreaking havoc in the Big Apple and he wouldn’t have heard a thing.

He went through the airport in a daze. Hefting his bag on his shoulder and dragging his luggage with one hand, he walked in a straight line. One foot in front of the other, like an automaton.

Everything seemed so gray.

The light in New York was always gray. But today? It seemed like someone put all of New York in a black and white television.

He stepped into the sunlight and donned his sunglasses. He looked around him. People walking in and out, people running out to greet loved ones. Couples kissing on the sidewalk, so close they stood that a crowbar wouldn’t be able to tear them apart.

He wished he were arriving with the same joy. Instead, a concrete hollow block sat on his chest. Instead, his heart had cried so much that it was now a dry desert.

He spied Joey waving from a cab parked to his left. She rushed to him, taking long strides until she finally broke into a run. Like a train, her body slammed into Pacey’s arms.

Solace. He was in the arms of the one person that might nurse his heart back to health.

Relief. She was his blanket, his night-light, and his daydream.

Color. Like an artist, she began to add the tints, shades and hues. The sun seemed to be more yellow. Her hair shone like rich chocolate. The clouds in his eyes parted.

“Baby, let’s go home,” she whispered in his ear. She reached down to grab his backpack and holding hands, they silently walked to the cab.

The smell of bacon frying.

The feel of pure cotton on his bare skin.

The sound of the curtains billowing in the soft breeze. Forgot about the windows…

The sight of Joey in his pajama tops desperately battling it out with the frying pan.

“Shit!” she grunts as another exploding bubble of oil splatters her.

Wrapped in a blanket, Where are my boxers?, he watched her from the master bedroom. The morning light was streaming into the kitchen, catching her long coffee-brown hair. She had her Walkman on and bopping her hips to whatever song was playing, swishing the wooden spoon like a fencing sword.

She opened her eyes and gasped to see him standing there, just watching her with those ice-blue eyes of his.

She ripped off her headphones and pointed the wooden spoon at him. “OK, you jerk. You’ve seen me at my worst! A Martha Stewart wanna-be trying to make pancakes and bacon for breakfast while dancing to Barry White. So, sue me!” she cried, a crazy giggling smile on her face.

Stop smiling. Stop acting like nothing is wrong.

It was uncanny how she read his mind. She turned off the stove and walked over to him, wiping her hands on the apron. Without a word, she reached over and held him. So tightly it seemed that he was beginning to feel warm again.

I hate waking up alone.

“You’ll be OK, Pacey. He’s in a better place now,” she whispered to his shoulder.

Yeah, but I didn’t get to send him off.

“She doesn’t understand.” That was what was echoing in his mind, forgetting that years ago, Joey lost someone even closer---her mother. How could she understand the murkiness of his soul when he can’t even tell her the truth? That the reason he asked her not to come with him to his grandfather’s funeral was because he feared that she would find out that he had lied ?

That he had lied. That his grandfather was boasting to the Witter clan about how proud he was of him when he was obviously not worthy of any praise.

That he had lied to be with her.

How does one tell your girlfriend that it was because of her that he lied? That he had screwed up his priorities because she was his end all. That she was his purpose, his destiny, his fate, his…his solace, relief and color. That she meant everything to him.

That she clouded his heart from everything else.

That being with her NOW just blackened his already overcast spirit. He was a black hole---even her love-light got sucked into the void he called his soul.

He impassively put his arms around her and nuzzled her hair, automatic. Robotic even. He closed his eyes and willed himself to feel more at peace. To absorb the love he could feel emanating from Joey.

“Let’s eat. I did not wake up to the sounds of happy bird chirping just to throw all that greasy bacon down the garbage chute,” she said.

He let her lead him to the breakfast table and watched her pile bacon and pancakes upon his plate. And like a child afraid of being punished, he spooned bits and pieces of food into his mouth, chafing his dry throat.

“Thanks, Joey.”

“That can’t be all that you’re eating, Pacey!” she chided.

“I can’t stomach any more. Besides, I’ve got to head out to work.”

“Are you serious? You’re going to go to work knowing full well that you’re tired? Especially after last night?” Then she winked.

She’s so full of shit.

“I’ve got to. Lost almost a week when I went to the funeral. Can’t afford to lose more. I don’t want to have to catch up with everything.” He pushed away from the table and tightly wrapped the blanket around him.

He could feel himself getting angry being around her. He could feel something inside him begin to smolder. He feared that his fists would start to fly and knock her out.

The thing is, he understood totally that it wasn’t Joey who he should be mad at.
His anger should be self-directed. He knows that he needs to deal with his guilt, with his lie, with his own rage. It isn’t her fault.

But when he looks at her, he sees just how much she has taken over him, how she absolutely consumes his entirety. He can remember a time when he couldn’t breathe properly when she would be in the same room. He can picture the night she stared at him in the dark as he read his poem…

"She was my Prozac on nights

when the clock spoke to me.

She was my amphetamine

when the rain drummed a dull rhythm on my head.

She was both sanity and daydreams,

both nomad and Rock of Gibraltar.

She was my Alhambra,

the beautiful castle I watched stand tall

as I walked away, trapped in my own fear."

Is there such a thing as total absolution? Could you really escape the fear and the self-reproach? Catholics find it in whispering their dirty little secrets to a white-robed man behind a wooden window. Others will go as far as whipping themselves till the skin on their backs tear and bleed. Some would lead lives of austerity, an ascetic and somber life to atone for whatever frivolities and decadence they may have had. Fasting, whipping, prayers, novenas and God knows what else.

Will there ever be forgiveness for him? He knows that a lot of people will forgive him. Some may not forget his sin but many will say, “We understand.” Maybe if Joey found out, she’ll even look at him with sorrowful comprehension and sympathy and say, “It’s OK, baby.”

But in the end it boils down to this: Can he forgive himself?

Each day seemed as dreary as the rest. He cannot hide from his grandfather; he knows that he’s up there, tsk-tsking away but at the same time, giggling knowing full well that his grandson was just being his usual impulsive self. What he needs to deal with now are the people that are still alive, the ones he deals with everyday.

It was 1 o’clock in the afternoon. Today was one of those full days. But he took on even more meetings, briefings, brainstorming sessions and more projects. He said yes to every single one. Costa Rica for a week in January? Sure. Los Angeles next month to check out the distribution center? Not a problem. Toronto in February, dead of winter? Cool.

He needed to keep himself busy and to keep himself far away from those moments in time where the guilt-monkey taps you on the shoulder. He needed to take long plane flights and lengthy car drives. He needed to see highways, mountains and coastal roads. He needed to see pipes, trucks and men in overalls. He needed to see pile upon pile of books, papers, presentations and ledgers.

For the first time in 26 years, he did not need to see Joey.

“Mr. Witter?” the secretary said through the intercom. “Sorry to disturb you, I know you said not to accept any calls but I thought you might make an exception for Ms. Potter. She’s on line 2.”

Dead silence.

He spun his chair around and stared out the window. He watched New York’s pigeons flying about and shitting on windows. He stared at the leisurely dawdling of the window cleaner across his building.

“Mr. Witter?” the intercom crackled.

“Ms. Stoughton? Please tell Ms. Potter that I’m too busy to entertain calls at the moment. And inform her that I will be coming in late tonight. Please order dinner for me since I’ll be staying in till about 10PM. Thank you.”

“Yes, Mr. Witter,” she replied.

He came home at almost midnight. He threw his coat over the back of the sofa and headed straight to the kitchen. The light from the refrigerator shone throughout most of the living room. When he turned around to look for a glass, that was when he saw whom he threw his coat over---Joey.

With a heavy heart, he walked over to her and watched her sleep. He couldn't believe that he had just done that. That she had become almost invisible to him. Gingerly, he removed his coat from her and tucked her blanket in.

He remembered the first time he had watched her sleep. Grams had told them that when you can sit there silently and just watch your partner sleep, you know that you’re in love---hook, line and sinker.

So, he looked at her face and was just enthralled with how beautiful she was. She was most beautiful when she didn’t have to worry about what people thought of her, when she was asleep or just so dizzyingly happy, she couldn’t have cared less if someone went up to her and told her she looked like a monkey. The lines around her face were softer. Her chin wasn’t so strong. Her eyebrows weren’t creased into a frown.

Like an angel.

He stroked her face and brushed hair away from her face. He looked down to see her holding onto a book.

She stayed up.

He knelt down beside her and watched her breathe. Just as he was about to let her sleep on the couch instead of disturbing her, he changed his mind. As delicately as possible, he slipped his arms underneath her and pulled her up. She curled into a tight little ball, encircling his neck with her long arms and snuggling up to that comfortable nook where the neckline meets his shoulder. He smiled when she began to purr and murmur, “Uhm…erm…yes, Mr. Howell, the designs will be on pancakes.”

They lay side by side on the bed, her feet tucked tightly together. He watched her sleep for what seemed like an eternity, searching within himself for the comfort she used to provide simply by laying there.

They used to sleep at ease with the space between themselves. No. Not “they”. She could. He couldn’t. In the middle of the night, he would sleep on his right side, she on his left then he would slide over closer to her, just to make sure her backside touched his. Just to make sure. Just to make sure that she really was there.

Tonight, she snuggled up close to him, rolling over to her right side. She was in deep sleep. Then she buried her nose onto his backside. Slowly, he pushed her shoulder away from him so that she’d roll back over to her side.

Now he could sleep. Not just at ease with the space between them, but rather with a need to sleep with space between them. With as much space as possible between them…

He heard a desperate shaking of the door knob.

“Pacey? Hon? I can hear the TV on, I know that you're in there,” she said in a sing-song voice.

She sounds too chirpy. God, I hate chirpy people.

He could hear her tapping her foot on the floor. She must have forgotten her key. Damn it…

Trudging towards the door, he was greeted with a smile that fell upon laying eyes on him. He looked down at himself and saw why. Clad in a tattered shirt and a pair of jogging pants, he looked like shit. He was holding a glass of scotch with ice.

“Hi, Pacey. I left my key and uhm… I…erm… aren’t you supposed to be at work?” she asked, averting her gaze.

“Nah. I called in sick. Besides, I’m leaving for LA tomorrow morning. Thought I’d rest today,” he replied, turning away from the door and moving towards the sofa. ESPN was blaring out some team’s statistics, what sport he didn’t even know.

“LA? I didn’t even know you were leaving. That’s great.”

He could hear the strain in her voice. The hurt. The anger brimming in the surface that is Joey. He felt sick knowing that his not telling her was hurting her.

But he couldn’t help it.

He’s never felt so far from her before. If asked two weeks ago if he could ever feel uncomfortable with Joey, he would have laughed aloud. Really loudly. But now?

“I forgot. Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

“That’s alright. But before we end this conversation,” she said, her voice getting edgy, “maybe you’d like to tell me things that you may have forgotten. Let’s take this…”

“Do I really have to tell you everything?” he snapped, interrupting her usual Joey Potter tirade. He didn’t want to hear how inept and irresponsible he was. He’s a grown man, almost 26 and there’s this woman about to go on and on about his incompetence. He can do that to himself, thank you very much.

His snappish retort was met with silence. He snuck a peek and saw that she was trying to control her anger---and the tears about to burst from her eyes. But he knew Joey. Those weren’t tears of sadness and hurt. They were tears of anger.

And he was going to meet her head on.

“What?” he yelled, standing up so abruptly that he almost spilled the scotch on their couch. “I forget to tell you one thing and you have a cow?”

He saw her pull herself together, pulling up all 5’ 9” of Potter Woman. “This isnt’ just ‘one thing’, Pacey! You were going to go away on a business trip without telling me? What if I had made plans? What if I had decided to surprise you and take you out somewhere? Or what if I needed to know where you were? Were you just going to pack up tonight and let me sleep, knowing that you were going to walk out that door and straight into a plane to LA? What’s up with that?”

“I forgot. I apologized. What more do you want from me? OK, here’s my life itinerary, Jo. I’m going to Costa Rica in a month, Toronto after that and then back to LA. I’m going to have a meeting on Monday with…” He began to rattle off all his appointments and projects, throwing his fist here and there for emphasis.

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” he said, out of breath.

With a sigh, Pacey fell back down on the couch. With his head in his hands, rubbing his head as if to massage the pain away, he began to breathe heavily.

“I’m angry, yes. I’ll give you that. Why? I don’t know.”

He felt her sit beside her on the couch and tentatively touch the back of his neck. He could feel her hand trembling, as if she was scared that at one touch, he’d explode.

Don’t be scared of me, please. Just hold me, Joey. Just whisper and say, “It’s OK, baby.”

She pulled her hand away when he remained in his position.

Flashes of images began to revolve in his mind. Photograph over photograph of Joey in his arms, watching the sunset. Of him and his grandfather singing “My Way”. Of Joey lying on his bed, eyes closed and mouth slightly open as she gasped out his name. Of him and his grandfather sitting side by side on a small boat whistling “Moon River”.

“Baby? Please tell me why you’re so angry. Is it because of something I did? Did I do anything wrong to make you so mad at me? To make you drink at 1 in the afternoon?” she whispered.

“You didn’t make me drink at 1 in the afternoon, Jo! You don’t make me do anything,” he yelled at her. “God, you think my world revolves around you?” He couldn’t believe the lies spilling from his mouth.

Of course my world revolves around you…

“What the hell is wrong with you? You know, I’m sick of this shit, Pace. I’m trying to figure out what is wrong with you, help you go through whatever this is and you yell at me? You make me the bad guy?”

“I…I can’t think straight, Jo. I’m a wreck, isn’t that obvious?”

A pregnant pause. A very pregnant pause.

“Is this about your grandfather, Pace? It’s not your fault you weren’t there, you were on vacation. They knew you couldn’t make it since you’ve planned this for months. It wasn’t…”

“They didn’t know.”

“What? I’m sorry.”

“I said, they didn’t know. They didn’t know I was with you in Barbados, Joey. They thought I was in LA for work.”

Say something, Joey.

Silence.

“I lied to Mom. I told her that I had a meeting in California over the weekend. I… I… didn’t want to miss… Jo, say something, God… Jo, I didn’t mean it to be so… Jo, I just wanted to be with you so bad… We needed a vacation… Jo… Jo…

I...I'm stupid that's why... I just wanted to make you happy. I was so scared that we were becoming a boring couple, that you'd leave me if I couldn't make you happy... I...I lied.

And now when I look at you, I can't feel as happy as I used to be. I look at you and see this beautiful woman who makes my heart stop but also makes me cringe. I didn't see my grandfather, Joey. All of them, they all saw him. And he spent half the night talking about ME. About me. So when I look at you, I see my grandfather."

With tears in her eyes and a nail in her throat, she asked, "So, are you blaming me, Pace? Is this why you're so angry at me?"

"No, Joey. I'm not blaming you. I'm blaming myself but I'm taking it out on you. I just need some time and some space, Jo. I need to be away from you. I'm so incomplete, I feel like a puzzle with so many missing pieces. But when I'm with you, I feel whole. You fill up the void. I can't be that to you, Joey. I can't be incomplete with you and be a whole man only when you're around. I..."

"...need your space and time. I think I understand, Pace. But I can't believe that you thought I would leave you," she said, crying openly. "I love you so much, I've loved you for years. I told you that almost 6 months ago on a restaurant balcony. I told you how much I loved you up on a roof in our dorm. I've loved you and you didn't believe me?" Her tear stained face never seemed more beautiful---her anger, sadness and pain was so vivid.

"I don't understand any of this, Jo. All I know is that when I'm with you, I feel sick. I feel angry. I feel like I've just abused a gift from God. That's what Grandpa called you, Jo. A gift from God."

"You can't push me away, Pace. I won't let you. I'll stand by you, I'll help you. I'm not leaving." As she said this, she shook her head side to side, as if trying to dispel the realization that was hitting her full force.

Pacey looked at her face and smiled a slow, sad smile. "I love you, Joey. I really do. And now I know that I love you. But you consume me that I become blind. Blind to my priorities, to my life, to my needs, to my...family." He broke at the last word. "To love you the way I should, I need to be whole. To be whole, I need my time and space." He held her face close, stroking the cheek that he had kissed so many times as she lay sleeping.

They held onto each other, awaiting the storm before them.

The dam broke with the realization that she could not nurse his heart to health. They cried for the solace they could not provide each other. They weeped for the understanding, the enlightenment, for the sharing of the truth.

In retrospect, you know that sometimes you are just a blip in someone's history; maybe half a page if they really loved you. For Pacey and Joey, their history ran on the same road for years but they were just looking at different views.

Joey walked beside Pacey because she chose this road above all others.

Pacey walked beside Joey for fear of becoming lost.

He walks down the streets of the city, seeking the balm that will soothe his wounded soul. He doesn't hear the birds' song and the trees' sigh. He does not see the gray-blue sky nor the glow of the oil-slicked pavement.

But he can see the other dark-suited knights that serve this kingdom called New York. His briefcase is his shield, his pen is his spear. He is but another face, another dark-suited knight. And he thrives in the anonymity.

For three months now, she has remained silent and invisible to him. Not a letter nor a phone call. She has given him the time and space he asked for because, he knew, she loved and understood him.

The pain in her eyes---like those of a child slapped for a crime he did not do---was overpowering. In joy and in despair, she overwhelmed him. She defined his feelings and his thoughts. She was his elixir.

And no man can love a woman like that without losing who he is.

He entered the building, nodding a hello to the doorman who called him "Mistuh Wittah". Then he took the elevator that would take him to his fort, thirty-three floors up. He will then sit on his chair, spinning it over to one corner of his office so he cold watch the pigeons perch. Then he will look towards the other window to wait till sundown. He has, somehow, begun to find comfort in the darkness. How strange a journey this was for the man who could not sleep without feeling her skin on his own.

"Good morning, Mr. Witter," his secretary said. "You have a 10am with Mr. Wincott, an 11 with the Strategy Group and a 2pm with the Petroleum Distributors Association."

"Thank you, Ms. Stoughton."

"Mr. Witter?"

"Yes?"

"Ms. Potter requested a 4pm with you. I told her I'd confer with you first."

He almost got angry with her. How dare she treat Joey like that, like she needed an appointment with him! Then he realized that maybe his secretary knew more about the strain in their relationship. Maybe she's noticed that Joey doesn't call or come by as often as she used to.

"Please return her call and tell her I'll be free by 5. And please order Chinese take-out for me. I'll be working through lunch."

"Yes, Mr. Witter."

The meetings flew by without hitches. He was in his element---he was the Corporate Lion they envied, feared or admired. He was the man the board expected to one day bring the company to new heights. But as the hour of 5 closed in, he began to get jumpy. Even the near arrival of her consumes me. For the first time in three months, he will see her face, smell her green apple scent and maybe, just maybe, touch her chocolate brown hair.

Will he cave in and just melt in the safety off her arms where all is right and familiar?

He lit a cigarette and spun his chair towards the window. The cold season brings earlier sunsets. It brings the darkness, too.

Maybe in the dark, she won't see my eyes.

The intercom crackled. "Mr. Witter? Ms. Joey Potter to see you."

"Thank you. Please let her in." He stood up and walked over to the door when it pushed open.

"Hello, Pacey."

"Hello, Joey."

They stood in uncomfortable silence.

Deafening, like a train blasting through at full speed.

"How have you been?" she asked.

She's wringing her hands

"I've been good. Busy. You?" he replied.

"All right, I guess. Busy, too. Projects all the way down to North Carolina."

Silence.

What exactly do they mean by "pregnant pause"?

"Pacey, I cam here to talk to you," she says, pointing to him and then to her, "about us. What little left there is." She paused, took a deep breath. "To be blunt, I guess I need to ask, what are the terms of this thing? Is there a time frame? Six months? A year?"

He could hear a note of bitterness to disguise the hope. His heart was breaking. I don't want to be your winter. He knew that if he asked her to wait, she would. Now, he is so sure of her love for him---he just realized too late and now he can't love her back the way she deserves to be loved.

"I'm really not sure, Joey," he replied, avoiding her eyes. "To be honest with you, I'm not going to give us a deadline. It doesn't work that way."

"So, what you're telling me is that I'll be in limbo until you find yourself?!? For God's sake, Pacey, you're 26! You're too old to be soul searching," she yelled.

He knew that she didn't mean what she said. She was trying to cope and the easiest way she knew how was to get angry.

"I'm not asking you to wait, Jo," he whispered.

Like a wounded animal, she began to cry, doubling over and holding her stomach like she was punched in the gut. She didn't want to hear those words; he called her bluff.

"I still love you, Joey, that's why I'm doing this. To be the man you deserve."

She looked up at him with eyes brimming with tears, with eyes a-flame with rage. "You're the man I want, not some cosmic super hero!"

"But I am not the man I want. I want to be the man who can sleep beside you without worrying that tomorrow you will leave me. I want to be the man who will be able to prioritize others without worrying that I will dissatisfy or displease you. I know that you aren't, but it's me. I want to love you as a whole person. Do you understand that?"

She nods in resignation. He knew that she understood even three months ago. Or maybe even earlier in their relationship. She knew.

"I need closure, Pace. I can't live day to day knowing that we still love each other but can't be together. That you won't have me," she said, her voice breaking.

"If you want me to say that I don't love you, I won't because it's not true."

"Give me something, Pacey! I need something!"

"Jo, the most I can say is that we need to break up. Cut all romantic ties. Maybe even not see each other for a long while."

She breathes a sigh of relief of some sort. "I love you, Pace. I loved you before and I wasn't going to leave you. I was happy. You know that now, right?"

He gave in.

He reached out and stroked her cheek upon which a river of tears began to fall. He touched her chocolate brown hair then cupped the face that leaned into his hand.

"I know, baby, I do."

With a gulp of air, she dove towards him and kissed his mouth. Then ran out the door.

He watched her run. A part of him wanted to follow her, to stop her and take back everything he said. He was risking losing her forever.

But he knew that they would not last together if he remained the same.

He sat on his chair and spun it towards his desk. There stood the picture of him and Joey, leaning against a railing, the New York sky behind them. He stroked her face, as if trying to photocopy her face into his memory.

He held the picture frame close and kissed her image. Then he tucked it away into his drawer. He brought out the picture of him and his grandfather---the one Aunt Carrie gave him, the one Joey took---and placed it on his desk.

He heard his grandfather's voice. "Pacey, consider yourself lucky that you have a friend like Joey. How many people can say that they have a friend who can read their minds, who know exactly when to call and what to say when they do? Not a lot, Pacey. I look at you and I see you pining away for this woman and I understand why. She’s beautiful, she’s smart and she’s got bigger balls than you do. But you can’t seem to see past wanting and needing her. Be happy that she loves you as a dear friend. Anything more than that would be a gift from God.”

He opened the drawer one last time and looked at her face.

"Maybe when we're strangers again, we'll understand better who we are."---Shay Youngblood, "Soul Kiss”